


Never Let Me Down Again

by jendavis



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-08
Updated: 2010-11-08
Packaged: 2017-10-13 03:32:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/132367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jendavis/pseuds/jendavis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The fallout from "Reunion," or, five times talking doesn't help, and once where it doesn't need to</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Let Me Down Again

1.

John regards Carter across the table, running a hand over his face. He's tired, wants to get out of here, and really, it feels a little underhanded, having this meeting without Ronon here.

Because honestly? He's not sure he can defend him.

Or if he even _wants_ to.

But McKay's there, Teyla too, and she's looking at him like he's about to lose every last amount of respect she has for him, if he doesn't get this right. The least he can do is _try_.

"Look," he says to Carter, pretending that he's not noticing the tension in the room, that he can handle this. "None of us, here, can say that we'd act any differently in his shoes. And the moment the shit hit the fan, he came running. That's _got_ to count for something."

"I'm not speaking only to his actions in the field today," Carter reiterates. "I'm looking at his file, here, and this is not the first time he's gone off the reservation."

Sheppard nearly smirks. He's read some of the SG-1 reports, and it's not as if Carter's hands are entirely clean on that front, but he can't say that, not in front of the others. Probably not even to Carter's face. He doesn't know her that well, yet.

McKay's grimacing, staring at the table, and John knows that he was there, when Ronon requested to bring Tyre and the others to Atlantis, he saw the initial spark that led to this entire mess. McKay's silent, though, and John doesn't know if that's a blessing or a curse.

He takes a breath, keeps it professional. "He had not been informed of the changes to the security protocols," Sheppard explains. "He and Teyla were off world when the announcement was made. And yeah, he could have been more _polite_ , but."

"That's not what we have him on the team for," McKay interjects, earning a cross glare from Teyla, and this meeting is just going to get _so_ much worse.

\---

2.

Keller's finally satisfied that he won't actually need stitches, but she's insisting that Ronon wait for her to return with another handful of painkillers that will probably just go unused, once again, and slipped back into the stockpile when she's not looking.

Finally alone for a moment, he tries again to think his way through it. It's awkward, trying to rehearse what he's going to say when he gets out of here. He's not used to defending himself with words. He's no good at apologies when he doesn't know what, exactly, he's apologizing _for_.

Back when he first came to Atlantis, that first month, McKay had blown up most of an entire solar system. John. _Sheppard_ , then, had been furious. It had taken months for him to really trust Rodney again. And _Rodney_ hadn't fucked things up _half_ as badly as Ronon had.

He considers the empty hallway outside the infirmary. Sheppard's not here, waiting, like he usually is, but it comes as no surprise. Keller notices him hesitating, says that John left with Carter a while ago, to get started on the debriefing.

Ronon doesn't know if he's needed there, or what he'd say if they let him in the door. He goes to his room instead.

\---

3.

Sheppard knows that Carter's decision to keep Ronon on the team is because of what she saw during the mission, not because of John's admittedly paltry defense.

He's gathering his things, listening to Teyla and McKay muttering back and forth about some painting, or something, but their conversation ends at the door when Teyla heads onwards. McKay, it turns out, is waiting for him, walks with him out towards the transporter.

"You going to talk to him?"

"Heading there now, gonna give him the good news." He feels himself plastering the smile on his face, wonders if McKay can see through it.

"Good." Rodney flounders for a minute once they step inside. As the door opens to the residential wing, revealing a mostly empty corridor, he tries again. "Just. Go easy on him, yeah? His day probably sucked more than yours did."

Sheppard nods, noting full well that it's not merely _Rodney_ awkwardly doling out the relationship advice, but that it's _not_ Teyla. Apparently John's going to have to spend a good chunk of the evening patching things up with his team.

He'll deal with her later. It'll be easier to make amends once he's fixed things with Ronon.

McKay turns down the hallway towards his quarters, and John can hear Teyla's voice, inquiring again about a painting, and at some point, John figures, he'll ask about it. But it doesn't matter right now.

\---

4.

Ronon lets him in and meets his eye, but he's looking through him, expecting the worst.

John opens his mouth to speak, but his eyes are drawn in by the empty space on the wall, and all that talk about the painting makes sudden, painful sense.

Ronon was _this_ far along in the moving-out process, and now John's pissed off all over again.

He tries to hide it, though.

"Everything okay down in the infirmary?"

"I'm fine," Ronon says. "How'd the debriefing go?" And it's only four words, but underneath are bitterness, annoyance and impatience.

And they might as well have it out, anyway.

"You're still on the team," John says. "If you want to stay."

"Okay." And really, John could use a little more than that, but Ronon's not relaxing even a little bit. He's still looking back at him like he's waiting for the other shoe to drop.

 _Join the club_ , John thinks, and asks the question he's been trying not to think about all day long. "Do you _want_ to stay?"

He hates the way it comes out, but he's not even sure, here, what he means. If he's supposed to be the C.O. right now, or if he's supposed to be the boyfriend, or even how to untwine the two right now.

"Yeah," Ronon says, but this time, at least, he seems to get that a little more clarification is needed. "I mean. On the team. And with you, if you want…" He trails off, busies himself with the bag sitting on the bed. It's deliberate, so he can't see John's hesitance to reply.

He also can't see his relief, though, so John has to keep talking. "Awesome," he says, because it is, it's close enough anyway, but this mess is still too raw, he's too fucked in the head right now to find a way out of it, and they both know it.

Ronon seems intent on unpacking his things, though, and John's been crap at the talking, anyway. He opens his mouth again, the things that are coming out of the bag could just get shoved right back in.

"Okay, well. I'll let you get back to it, if you want," he says, unsurprised when he gets a forcibly distracted hum in return.

He nods, only Ronon probably can't see it, and he passes Teyla in the hallway as he leaves.

It's half an hour before John realizes all the things he should've said.

\---

5.

After Teyla leaves, he stares at his painting, where Ras Kurin, leading the third battalion to victory, holds his sword aloft with an arm that bears the same tattoo that burns on Ronon's skin.

It was an homage, earlier, but now he's not so sure. And it doesn't matter, anyway. Anyone who would've understood it is dead, and honestly, it's a relief. Were Kurin alive to see the mistakes he's made, he'd have him executed for treason.

Then again, this might be close enough.

Ronon knows he's fucked up twice today, first with the wraith worshiping traitors, and then here. With John, his closest ally, his closest _everything_ , but maybe he's lost him, too.

Because when John had insisted that they were fine, Ronon had said next to nothing. Because he let him leave, because maybe that's what they did to each other, now.

So the words are still here, in his head. Everything he rehearsed, before, he now rehashes. Wishes like a fool that if he thinks them loud enough, John will hear him through the walls of the city.

 _When I said "let's go home," I meant it._

I didn't mean to put Atlantis at risk, or the team. You have to know that.

I don't know where the ultimatum came from, if it was Carter or me who brought it forth first. I wasn't thinking.

I was selfish. I thought I could have everything. It doesn't mean I stopped wanting you.

I'm fucking sorry.

If John can hear him, though, he doesn't respond, but the city does. There's a chime at his door.

\---

1.

John's about as good at talking as Ronon is, and maybe that's part of the problem. But it's not likely to be part of the solution, either.

The Marines, overseen by Teyla, should be finished setting up in the mess by now. Hell, they've probably already gotten started. Any minute now, the announcement will go out on the citywide, and that deadline, really, is what's giving him the final push down the hallway to Ronon's door.

It opens when he waves his hand, and he's honestly a little surprised. Ronon, for his part, looks even more so, but he covers it quickly.

"What's up?"

"I've been thinking," John's careful to grin, here, he doesn't need Ronon misunderstanding him all over again. "Today sucked, and morale's in the shitter. But you're still here. So this is more or less a ploy to maybe make you happier about it."

"What is?"

Lorne's voice on the citywide cuts through the hallway and in through the open doorway. "Attention, all personnel. In celebration of Samantha Carter's arrival, and Ronon Dex's return, it has been mandated that beer and wine will be on hand in the mess hall for all who want to partake. Your presence is not required, unless you are one of the two aforementioned parties." Lorne breaks off for a moment, "in which case we will come and _find_ you, should you fail to report in."

"Sounds like he's had a few already," Ronon grins, his look turning speculative when he gets a lock on John's face. Quieter, now, he says, "I never really left, you know."

"Yeah, I got that. Doesn't mean I'm not glad, though."

There are footsteps in the hall outside, and John can feel the eyes glancing over them as what sounds like a small army moves in for the assault on the mess hall. Ronon's noticing it too, watching them pass, and John's probably not the only one wishing that the door was already closed, that closing it now wouldn't draw attention.

"Gotta get my boots," Ronon nods back and to the side, and they've always worked better like this, speaking in code. John follows him towards the corner by the closet, where they won't be seen if they're quick.

It's just long enough for John to wrap his hand around Ronon's neck, to feel the heat under all that hair. Enough for one rough kiss that's going to end too soon, both of them chasing at each other's mouth, trying to get the last word in.

Ronon's hands are still tight on his shoulders when he pulls back, like he doesn't want to let go, like he never means to, and John doesn't think he'd let him, anyway. He cheats, catches at the corner of Ronon's mouth one last time.

"Welcome back."


End file.
